Column: A crash course in mountain biking

Heidi Swift / special to The OregonianJavad Simonsen of Southeast Portland, a bike racer who descends like a demon, is also a gentle mentor.

Our new bike columnist, Heidi Swift of Southeast Portland, is a member of the Portland Velo Race Team. Her column will run the first, third and fifth Sundays of the month.

Browns Camp is lush in the way that most landscapes in the coastal range are: greens that sing high notes. Theirs is a siren song.

The beauty is a distraction from the pain that lies on the trail below.

"Ready to hit the trail?"

For almost any other person, this would just be a standard Sunday out on the knobbies, climbing and descending the impressive single-track to be had here. For me, it's more important than that.

I am not a mountain biker.

To be honest, I've only just recently become totally comfortable calling myself a cyclist. Adding suspension, roots, rocks, switchbacks, single-track and fat tires to the mix takes things to a whole new level.

Handling skills? You mean I need handling skills?

I've been on a mountain bike six times in my life and crashed on all but one of those excursions.

These are the kinds of things that you should not be thinking just before starting a ride. I am still working on the mental component.

Javad Simonsen leads out. We are climbing. This is my favorite part aside from the parts where you get to jump off your bike and run over things. When my heart is beating three times per second, I know I am home.

I like the pain.

"Ready to go downhill?" He's grinning.

Javad has a reputation for going downhill in a hurry. Even the most experienced among our racing teammates will groan at the prospect of trying to hold his wheel on a technical descent.

We point the bikes down and he is gone -- just like that, around a corner. I remind myself that he has been playing on these two-wheeled toys for 20 years. His words from the drive out come back to me: "It's OK, Heidi. You're a beginner."

I set my jaw and find my way down the trail on carefully picked lines. Javad waits for me after the technical sections and coaches me through them: "Off the brakes! Weight back. Just go for it!"

There are times when I want to shove "Just go for it" down his throat, but I remind myself that his presence here is a gift unlike any other.

His patience is the greatest mercy. He is kind and gentle as he challenges me. He asks me for more, yet simultaneously affirms that I am enough just as I am.

We ride for two hours like this.

My legs are burning. I crash hard. My shoulder hurts. My shin is bleeding. My foot is wet from slipping during a creek crossing. The loop finishes with a climb and I want to be off my bike.

Instead, I follow Javad uphill and focus on the gratitude that I cannot help but feel.

People like Javad have fostered my journey into the world of cycling. We are an enthusiastic lot. We help each other. We teach. We ride our favorite trails slower than usual because there is a crazy girl who wants to squash her mountain biking fear and she needs help doing it.

Javad's patience is a map that I will follow to find my off-road legs. His confidence in me is a guide. He invests in me because he loves the sport and wants me to love it, too.

Give me enough time (and enough large Band-Aids) and he may get his wish.